8 Years In Waiting
by LochNeSie
Summary: Eight years is a long time to remain hopeful. A woman doesn't just 'vanish' when her career starts taking off, and her boyfriend proposes. Everyone is surprised when a woman, claiming to be of importance to Sherlock shows up, beaten and bloody. (**Kidnapping, Sexual Themes, Adult Language, Violence**) Sherlock/OC
1. Introduction

**Uh...Sorry if its short and if it looks weird. I'm not used to posting on FF.**

**Enjoy the story!**

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The Sound of heavy footsteps can be heard from the floor above. They're rushed, clumsy, and make various skids before turning and coming to a halt at the basement door. It flings open and makes a loud crack as the knob slams against the wall. Lights flicker on and he's practically running down the stairs now. When he reaches the bottom, he's fully in view. Short sweat drenched brown hair (unwashed for how long?), wide and wild green eyes (bloodshot with dilated pupils), his mouth set into a deep scowl, a thick build with strong arms, and a gun in his hand.

This man is disheveled.

This man is frantic.

This man is pissed.

He storms over to the woman sitting huddled up to herself in the far corner of the room, curled up for protection in desperation. She yelps and tries to scoot away (to back up further from this menace of a man), but is trapped by the walls. The man grabs her by the neck and stares at her tear-stained face as she claws at his hand for her life (with what nails? he cut them short). He holds the gun to her face and the barrel presses against her cheek. She shakes her head, and mouths the word "Don't".

"Tell me you love me" he rasps out. "Like you always did!"

(Like he always made her)

"I love you" she whispers all too quickly for his pleasure. The brute is crying now, snot dribbling from his nose.

"Louder, and like you mean it!" She repeats it, same as the first time, over and over, with her eyes shut tight, hoping he doesn't pull the trigger. He quickly becomes frustrated (enraged, like always), and slams her into the wall before standing and running a hand through his hair.

"Just...go." he muttered.

"What-"

"GO! Before I change my mind!" he shouts, and she's up in seconds, stumbling as she runs out the house.

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DI Lestrade slowly stepped out of a squad car, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, and a thick file in the other. He moves towards the doors of Scotland Yard and collides with a short woman. He drops everything to catch her before she hits the ground.

"You alright, miss?" he asks before taking a good look at her and realizing she's anything but. Her face is covered in bruises of all colors, her eyes are red and puffy, her long black hair is unruly (like a bird's nest), her dress is so tattered that it can hardly be considered one, her feet are bare and bleeding, and her entirety is covered in a thick layer of dirt, muck and grime.

"Let's get you inside, love" Lestrade says. He sits her in one of the interrogation rooms and throws a bright orange shock blanket over her shaking scrawny shoulders. She gives him a look, one that says "thank you", and wraps herself up tight. Lestrade leaves to speak with Sally Donovan behind the one way glass.

* * *

Donovan walks into the room with a sympathetic look on her face, and slowly approaches the woman. She introduces herself and asks routine questions, but the woman refuses to give any information except for her name.

"Beia Eldiclaire."

"Well Miss Eldiclaire, do you have someone we could contact?"

"My fiancé," she pauses and her eyebrows furrow as she looks at the ground in thought. "I'm not really sure if I can still call him that after all these years..."

(Years?)

"What's his name, miss?"

"Sherlock Holmes"

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**Her name is pronounced **Bay-Uh El-de-claire

**Really Short Chapter but it's just an introduction. It gets longer I promise.**


	2. Named Names

**Chapter 2 is up!**

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"Look...y-you're gonna have to slow down...never mind, we're here now." John hangs up his phone and shoves it into his pocket while following Sherlock out of the cab. "He says some loony woman is claiming to be your fiancé, how silly is that?" He laughs.

"Preposterous." Sherlock says as he makes his way into the building and pushes past people in his way to Lestrade. "Where is she?" he asks. The DI points towards the interrogation room window Donovan is in front of. Sherlock and John walk up and peer inside. An asian woman, around the age of 40, sits in a chair with her legs crossed and a glass of water clutched tightly in her trembling hands. Her eyes are shut tight and her body shudders each time she inhales through her mouth.

"She refused to follow protocol until she saw her _fiancé_. It's ridiculous really. I mean, who in their right mind would want to marry you?" A howl of laughter erupts from her mouth, and dies down when she turns and sees a cold and hollow expression, much more than the usual, on Sherlock's face. He enters the room and stands in front of her. She jumps at the sound of footsteps and looks up, dropping the glass.

* * *

There is silence between them. The two stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something (anything). She chews on her swollen lower lip and picks at the blanket as she searches her mind for words.

"I want a name, and an address." Sherlock's words throw her off, but she knows what he means. He wants to know who held her and where (what monster took her from him).

"It doesn't matter. He's probably dead by now."

"You were missing for six years, and you were declared dead for two" Sherlock's voice rose as he clenched his fists. "Don't tell me it doesn't matter!" he huffed. Beia flinched at his volume lets out a shaky sigh in an attempt to calm herself. Her eyes are starting to water and she tries to blink away the tears, but that only makes them come faster. He has to stay composed (the last thing he needs is to scare her). Sherlock sits in the chair across from her and folds his hands in his lap and speaks with a much soother tone. "What happened?"

She recited her story. She tells him of her time away, and of the madness and depression of her captive.

"He created this crazy fantasy world. He dressed me up, called me affectionate names, and put on this show that we were a _happy couple_. If I didn't play along, he beat me."  
_Obviously._ He wanted to say. There are so many things 'wrong' with her appearance (she just didn't look the same). Her nails are down to blood crusted stubs, and blue bruises plague her legs and trail up her thighs. The list goes on, and with each new discovery, the more pitiful she becomes.

Sherlock questions her on how she escaped the clutches of a man as brutal as she described in detail (beatings, starvation, humiliations he put her through).

"My eventual lack of participation in his game of _house_ became too much for him to grasp." Sherlock tapped his lip in thought.

"I'll ask more questioned later. For now, follow Lestrade's instructions. I'll be back." With that, he stood and exited the interrogation room.

* * *

Her information has been processed, evidence from her person has been collected, she has been cleaned, her clothes have been changed, and papers were signed. She appeared calm (besides flinching from touches in broken places). Sherlock, John, and Lestrade now watched as she answered a few last questions. Beia's face contorted as she spoke a name. Her voice is laced with utter hatred.

"Andrew Wilcox" she hissed. "A fan, an obsessor, a pervert, and a monster" she cringes. No one deserves what she faced at his hands (there's more than what she says, but she refuses to share more). A squad is quickly dispatched to the address they find him listed under, and there is no stopping Sherlock as he makes his way out the door.

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**Chapter 3 will come eventually. I've got a lot of school stuff coming up right about now but I will not abandon this story! Please stick around.**


	3. Author Note

**Author Note. **

**So I recently graduated from high school and a lot of stuff has been piled onto my schedule since then so IM sorry for the delay in the next chapter but i will update on FRIDAY 6/28 with TWO chapters. I'll replace this note with chapter 3 and then post chapter 4. :)**


	4. Ashes to Ashes

Loud sirens blare as a fleet of squad cars come speeding down the dark streets. They race towards the address registered to the suspect, Andrew Wilcox. As they pull up to the home, fire trucks are already parked outside, having finished extinguishing flames. The police file out of their cars to help set up barricades to prevent public interference before storming up to a small scorched townhouse. Sherlock jumps out of a taxi with John at his heels, and has to be held back from entering by Lestrade.

"We have to make sure the perimeter is secure first, Sherlock! The place just went up in flames and we don't know how bad it is yet." Officers armed with guns kick down the front door at his words and barge into the house. It's only a few minutes until one pokes his head out and gives Lestrade a thumbs up for 'all clear.' Sherlock enters the house, with John at his side, and covers his mouth with a handkerchief because of all the smoke and ash. He wonders through each room, taking notes of the painfully obvious things first. The slightly charred and sporadic pattern of burns shows that whoever started the fire did a poor job at trying to erase evidence. The place is in utter disarray. The furniture is either tipped over or moved from its original place, the curtains have holes in them, the carpet is old and worn, the kitchen floor tiles are filthy, and everything has a thing layer of soot and dust on it. They walk upstairs to find the bedroom in an even worse state, meaning the house was in such condition before the fire. A burst of flames couldn't have torn everything in it apart.

"It seems like someone was looking for something" Sherlock mutters.

"Maybe it was this" John calls. The detective looks over his shoulder to find that his friend pointing out a small steel box underneath a pile of wood that used to be a dresser.

"Good eye, John. Now if only we had gloves and someone to dust for prints!" He looked up and shouted. Grumbling could be heard as someone trudged up the stairs.

"Oh shut up, I'm coming!" said Anderson. The man stepped over debris and fished out the box to open it. "It's empty." Sherlock put on some gloves and snatched it from his hands. It was heavy with a broken lock on the side. He shook the box and a faint rattle could be heard.

"Or it has a false bottom." Sherlock smashed it against the wall, causing a few scraps of paper and some stray bullets to fall out.

"That's evidence you crack put!" Anderson shouts. Sherlock pics up a piece of paper and examines it. The burn marks make it hard to understand but "It looks like a ticket stub" Anderson finishes.

"For once, you're correct. But, do me a favor and stop speaking. I can't think. Now hurry up and bag this" Sherlock says. "Whatever was in that box besides a gun and ticket stubs, someone wanted to get rid of it. I need to find out who, and what!" He finishes as he makes his way to another part of the house. John and Sherlock make their way in and out of the other rooms, only to find nothing of importance, besides a computer which had its hard drive wiped (but nothing is ever really gone for good). When they get to the kitchen, a door grabs John's attention. It's hinges looked week and had four thick locks on the outside. He reached for the knob and ended up burning his hand.

"Really John, I thought you were smarter than that" Sherlock smirks as he walks over to him and kicks the door down, sending splinters everywhere. There's a flight of creaky stairs that lead down towards the basement. As Sherlock carefully makes his way down them the scent of smoldering flesh hits his nose. When he reaches the bottom, it's clear this is where the fire started because of the large blackened spot covered a far corner of the room. "This is where he kept her" he muttered.

The filthy mattress against the wall and the pile of burnt clothes smelled of an accelerant, paint thinner.

"Lestrade!" he bellowed. The DI rushed down the stairs and gave Sherlock a quizzical look.

"What did you find?"

"The culprit is not the one who started the fire. Whoever did this was looking for something and wanted to erase any amount of evidence. They're an amateur, no doubt; an accomplice, maybe. We need to find his body."

"It's over here." Sherlock, John, and Lestrade's heads turned to sound of Beia's voice coming from behind a curtain. Pushing it aside, John revealed the body of Andrew Wilcox, resting in a reclining chair with a phone in one hand, and a gun in the other, in front of a television. His eyes have rolled to the back of his head and his body is covered in third degree burns. There's also a box of tapes under the TV (was he watching them in the fire). Beia stand to the side with louring glare in her eyes as she stares down at him. John can't help but wonder what she's thinking. To see her captor reduced to nothing but a corpse, is it upsetting that he wont face justice, is it unbelievable, or a relief? Sherlock lightly grabs her arm, and the gentleness in his touch doesn't go unnoticed.

"_You shouldn't be here_" he says. Beia opens her mouth to speak but shrieks instead when a fleshy hand grips her wrist. Wilcox's crust covered eyes shoot open and her face.

"You..." he rasps. She tries desperately to pull away and runs off once she's free. Wilcox's ragged breathing echos through the basement. _He's alive.  
_Sherlock pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs as Lestrade calls for a paramedic. With everything in the house burnt to a crisp, Sherlock explains what he's deduced so far. "I haven't got the patience for this tonight. There isn't much here, but have someone try to salvage what they can of the computer. From what I do have, Andrew Wilcox is a not the brains behind Beia's abduction. Whoever helped him was aware he let her go and came to cover up their connections with the ordeal."

"That's it?" Anderson asked from the stairs. "Usually you have more."

"Oh don't try to patronize me, Anderson. It won't work. I'll have more tomorrow once I look over the old case file, but for now, I shall retire." Sherlock pushed past him as he jogged up the stairs. "Come along, John."

Outside of the house, Bei sat on the stairs, frozen in fear. Sherlock leaned down beside and spoke softly.

"Come on, dear. It's time to get you home." She looks up at him and takes the hand he's offered. Sherlock hails a cab and ushers her inside before getting in himself, followed by John. The ride to Baker Street is long, quiet, and awkward. It past 11 when they arrive. Sherlock guides Beia up the stairs and into the flat.

John watches them they get settled. Sherlock urging her to take another shower and sleep in his bedroom, rather than the couch. She reluctantly agrees and trudges up the stairs.

John wonders what it will be like living with the two of them (and for how long?).

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**Sorry for the long hiatus. I had high school graduation and some other junk pile up, so here. I changed the guys name from Adam to Andrew. I know I promised two chapters but there's gonna be a bit of a delay in the other chapter. It'll either early or late tomorrow.**


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